


to know how men breathe

by youcallitwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcallitwinter/pseuds/youcallitwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You will be queen someday.<br/>[pre series] [robb/sansa] [oneshot]</p>
            </blockquote>





	to know how men breathe

“I will be your queen.”  
  
Robb is polishing his sword, he does not look up.  
  
“You will be queen,” he says, “of a large kingdom somewhere, someday. Your people will write verses to your beauty.”  
  
 _I will be your queen_ , she thinks again, but does not say out loud, because she is a lady, and she knows when the gentleman is avoiding her.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
The truth is this: Sansa Stark wants to be queen of the Northern winter. It is all she has ever wanted.  
  
(The truth is this: Sansa Stark has always wanted far too much, far too often.)  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Robb is beautiful.  
  
“We are not the Lannisters,” he tells her, when she kisses him, softly, once. It is her first kiss. And she is much too bold with him. Her lady mother would disapprove of her boldness. But it is the sin that she would disapprove of the most.  
  
He turns away from her, and he is all muscle and strength; there is no yielding here, “We are not the Targaryens, Sansa.”  
  
She was not aware that the Lannisters and the Targaryens were the only ones allowed to love. She thinks she may have missed that in her lessons somehow.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
The next time, it is he who kisses her.  
  
She can feel her lips bruising, because he is hard, and he is angry at himself. Arya is everyone’s favorite sister, and sometimes she is jealous, but she thinks she would not like to be Robb’s. Not his favorite sister.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
She writes him letters sometimes, when he is sitting across the room. She writes on her best paper, in her best hand, in the way she has been taught. She does not let him read.  
  
He watched the flames engulf page after page. "Why write at all then?"  
  
A delicate shrug of her shoulders, "because I want to."  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
The story of Cersei and Jaime Lannister is the thing of legends, she has heard. It is the laughter of the handmaidens and the side-glances of all of King's Landing. And yet it is said that no man in the Seven Kingdoms looks at a woman the way Jaime Lannister looks at his sister.  
  
Robb does not look at her, when he pulls away.  
  
She touches her fingers to her mouth, it feels swollen. She is embarrassed that it will show. It is almost like being a common whore.  
  
"Seven hells," he curses under his breath.  
  
And then he is kissing her again, soft, apologetic, and she thinks this is what being a queen must feel like.   
  
She is not a queen, yet. But she is sure this is what it must feel like, anyway.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Jon does not seem to look him straight in the eyes.  
  
"I have not sinned," he insists, even though he does not know what Jon knows, and if he knows anything at all. But if he says it out loud, it may yet be the truth.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
There is a large, yawning gap where his honor once was.  
  
Sansa is just woman-grown.  
  
The first touch of wine to his lips is oblivion. The second touch of her skin is madness.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
She will go away, he knows.  
  
And then, she does.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
Sansa will not just be queen, she will be queen of the Iron Throne now, someday. Someday.  
  
Every time he swallows, there is an aftertaste at the back of his throat, he does not recognize.   
  
Sometimes, he dreams of her. Sometimes, he is not asleep when he does.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
"I love you," she says, for the last time, hurried, desperate. Her hair is not set in the way of the South, as it often is now. It is loose around her shoulders, wild, and this is a woman he did not grow up with.   
  
"We are not the Targaryens," he will repeat, later. He will touch her first.  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
There is wolf-blood in their veins. Her hair is the color of wildfire.   
  
They are Starks of Winterfell, they are not Targaryens, but what he has come to realize is this: sometimes, fire and blood are the victors nonetheless.  
  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
She does not look back. He is glad.  
  
He walks away. He will look back just once.

(He looks back twice.)  
  
  
  
  
[ **fin** ]


End file.
